


abluvion

by fishydwarrows



Series: redamancy: noun; the purity of love’s nature [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, BotFA, Botfa ee, Funeral Scene, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, So much angst, The Hobbit - Freeform, bagginshield, its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/pseuds/fishydwarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>abluvion: noun; that which has been washed away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	abluvion

 

They do not bury him in the ground. Not as a hobbit would have been. The tomb. _Tomb_ that they bury him in is endless. When the masses sing the walls erupt in cacophonous choruses echoing their sorrows.

 

* * *

 

They bury him late. The ground is frost ridden when Bilbo retreats into the overwhelming darkness of the mountain. The stars are hung in the sky, and the moon seemed shame to show his face that night. By the time it ends, Bilbo has packed in haste. And the first dawn is the light in which he walks the road.

* * *

 

               

They bury them by his side. The stone, too cool; the tomb, too dark for their bright lives, snuffed out like candles.

 

* * *

 

 

Its night and the air is chilled. The mountain is hollow with the voices of the dead. The candles are too bright for the darkness that surrounds them, and Bilbo thinks that he shall never light one again.

 

* * *

 

               

Its morning and Bilbo is in his room. Gifted to him in kindness. The tapestries are rotting and grey, the threads dropping to the floor in piles. Bilbo gathers his clothing and stuffs them in a pack. The mountain is too stuffy, too full of death for him to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s dark, and the funeral is long. The bodies. _His friends._ Are cold. Each face has eyes closed, a permanent rest. Bilbo keeps his face blank.

 

* * *

 

               

Its spring, and he has returned to the Shire. His home is empty.

 

* * *

 

 

Its winter and snow has never looked crueler and Bilbo watches it fall on Thorin’s blank face. The ground is stained red.

 

* * *

 

              

  His head pounds. Red spots.  Red for the blood on the stone. Red for the pain he feels in his chest as Thorin’s grip on his hand lessens in strength.

 

* * *

 

 

He cannot look at him.

 

* * *

 

 

A handkerchief lays on the empty floor. The world is quiet.

 

* * *

 

 

They bury him in the husk of a home. Not yet warm, not yet loved.

 

* * *

 

 

He leaves, and doesn’t look back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr ;-) : http://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


End file.
